Five times Charlotte mothered angels and one time she didn't
by Dino76
Summary: A mother without children takes over mothering the children without a mother. 5 little one-shots about Charlotte taking care of Lucifer (and Amenadiel), because having Lucifer slip in the show and call Charlotte "mum" just because she called him her stepson, was too good to be true.
1. Chapter 1

The girls' night out at Lux is not bad, _per se_. Charlotte feels elated to be invited into this mismatched little group of women, even if one of them is her therapist and another an actual demon from Hell. She is still trying to get over that one, but Maze is ruthless and doesn't take shit from anyone and that's a trait Charlotte can admire.

But for apparent reasons Charlotte can't allow herself to let go like the rest of the group. She absolutely _loathes_ that there is a period of months in her life that she is missing. Granted, she now knows that she _can't possibly_ remember it, because she had actually been _dead_ and in Hell, while her body had been inhabited by the Goddess of all Creation. Actually, thinking about it made it a _splendid_ reason to get thoroughly soused. But no, she does not want to miss even one tiny little memory for the rest of her life.

Ella had dragged Detective Decker off to the dance floor, some time ago. Charlotte can see them waving at her cheerfully and she makes an effort to smile and wave back. Maze and Linda had disappeared God only knows where, which left her alone at their booth and free to let her eyes roam across the swaying masses at Lux. The club was packed, the crowd rambunctious.

The much admired and desired host had graced them with his presence earlier in the evening, as flirtatious and immaculately dressed as always, ordering the waitress to keep the drinks coming, on the house of course. Then Lucifer had disappeared into the crowd again, surfacing every now and then, but he had not ventured closer to their table again.

Unwittingly, she scans the crowd for him, as she has done so very often these past weeks, finally catching sight of him at the bar. Perched on a barstool and holding himself up with one arm on the bar's shiny top, he looks dishevelled, even from her remote position. Casting a short look towards Ella and Chloe and noticing that they are still very much enjoying themselves in rhythm to the music, she feels drawn towards Lucifer's side. As she has so many times since he let it drop that his Mother had worn her skin.

She approaches him quickly, pushing through the throngs of people, Lucifer's slumped back clearly in sight. Sometime during the night, he had lost his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his pristine white dress shirt. She gently touches his shoulder, squeezing it, once she's close enough. He swivels around, almost losing his balance and toppling off the barstool.

"Easy there," she says and steadies him with a hand on his chest, pushing until he's leaning against the bar. Bleary eyes look at her, confused, until recognition sets in.

"Charlotte!" he exclaims loudly and way too cheerfully. He's hammered, and Charlotte feels concern settle deep in her stomach. "Are you enjoying your girls' night out?" He leans in close, _very close_ , and stage whispers, "Done something naughty?" She can't help but chuckle softly at his antics.

"It's nice," she replies. "Looks like you've been having fun as well." She gestures towards the drink in his hand.

"It's awesome!" He waves his arm out, sloshing the liquid over his hand. A disgruntled frown settles on his face as he regards the mess he's made, before shrugging and quickly downing the rest. He slams the glass on the bar top and motions for another one, just as it is put in front of him. He sways precariously as he reaches for it, prompting Charlotte to step closer to steady him.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" she asks, nodding towards the scotch. She doesn't know where her sudden concern comes from and neither does Lucifer, as he looks at her, clearly puzzled.

"I don't," he finally replies, shaking his head once, then lifts the glass to his lips. A sudden bout of worry and … frustration makes her act and she lets instinct take over.

"Well, I do," she says, grabbing the tumbler and pulling it from his grasp, almost spilling the liquid down his shirt in the process. He splutters with indignation, clumsy fingers following hers, but she puts the glass down well out of reach.

"I was drinking that!"

"Mh-mh. – Come on. I think it's time for the Devil to sleep it off." She grabs his upper arm and pulls. He stumbles off the barstool, but catches himself. Something that Charlotte is immensely grateful for, since his lanky form betrays his actual weight and she doubts that she would have been able to support him.

"But it's still early," he complains and clumsily fishes his mobile out of his pocket, squinting to read the numbers. It's oddly adorable, Charlotte can't help but notice. "It's…" His face puckers in concentration, one eye closing in the attempt to sharpen his vision. Then, apparently deciding that it's too much effort, he shoves the display at her face, almost hitting her in the nose. "See! Like I said! Early!"

"Sure," she says with a smile and takes the phone out of his unresisting grip, slipping it into her purse. "Come now." She pulls at his arm again and thankfully he follows docilely as she gently steers him through the crowd and towards the elevator.

"Where are we going?" His speech is slurred from the alcohol and he weaves precariously from side to side.

"You're going to bed," she replies, leading him into the cabin. He's quiet for a long moment, staring ahead, giving Charlotte ample opportunity to study him. He's leant back against the wall, one hand gripping the railing. His hair is ruffled and curling adorably, and she has to fight down the sudden urge to push them off his forehead. Thankfully the elevator's 'bing' jostles Lucifer out of his thoughts and interrupts her musings.

"I'm not tired," he complains and Charlotte definitely detects a whine in there.

"Yes, you are," she says firmly, directing him towards his bedroom with a steady hand on his back. For all his verbal protest, he doesn't seem to mind that much as he goes willingly.

"I wanna go back downstairs!" He turns towards her, stumbling up the step in the process.

"No, you're going to bed," she orders sternly, pushing at his chest until he sits down on the edge of the mattress. He just looks at her, puzzled, but makes no move to get up again.

"Undress," she says. "I'm getting you some water."

When she returns, he's sprawled across the sheets, fingers clumsily fumbling with the top button. Supressing a sigh, she puts the glass down on his nightstand and reaches for his wrist, pulling him to a sitting position again.

"Noooo!" This time the whine is more pronounced, his petulant tone acutely reminds her of her own children, and she smiles sadly.

"How is it possible for an angel to get drunk anyway?" she asks, as she quickly untucks and unbuttons his shirt. He sits docilely, letting her take over.

"I'm the Devil," he says, looking very serious, and frowning at her mistake.

"Okay," she's quick to appease him, after a glance at his face. "Does the Devil get drunk often?" She divests him off his shirt, stepping back to put it on a chair.

"Noooo," he replies. "It's the Detective."

"Detective Decker didn't make you drunk." She returns to his side again.

"But she does!" he says, words drawn out. "She messes with my supernat'ral metal… metbo…"

"Metabolism?" she offers, kneeling down to slip his shoes off.

"Yes! That!"

"Okay." Charlotte's just going to file that information away for later inquiries, because Lucifer looks about ready to fall asleep. She grabs the glass of the nightstand, holding it for him to take.

"Drink this," she orders.

"A nightcap?" he asks, gazing hopefully into the clear liquid.

"Water."

"I don't want water." He looks up at her, eyes ridiculously wide and puppy-like and Charlotte almost succumbs. _Almost_.

"You'll feel better, believe me," she says, wrapping her hand around his and guiding the glass to his mouth. After a tentative sip, he finishes it in three large gulps. "Want some more?" He nods. "Right, I'll get you some in a minute. Let's get you settled first." She reaches for his belt buckle, but he seems to gather some of his senses and motor skills again.

"Mum!" he almost shouts, affronted. Her heart jolts painfully at his exclamation. He halts her attempt to unbuckle his belt and scoots backwards clumsily. He almost manages a glare in his inebriated state, then his face clouds over all of a sudden. "Charlotte."

"Take off your trousers," she says, trying to hide how much being called 'mum' means to her. "And I hope you're wearing something underneath. – I'll get you some water."

He's buried under his sheets, when she returns, eyes already closed and nose pressed into the pillow. She soundlessly puts the bottled water on the nightstand within easy reach, and gathers his trousers and socks off the floor, draping them over the shirt. Regarding him fondly, she cannot help but lean down and tuck the blanket more firmly around his motionless form. She's missed this, missed taking care of someone. Smoothing a hand through his hair, she notices him peeking at her.

"Go to sleep," she says softly.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, looking embarrassed.

"Whatever for?" she asks, and because she feels silly hovering over him, she perches on the edge of his mattress, her hand still gently carding through his curls. She just can't help herself. He's quiet for a long moment, making Charlotte think he's gone to sleep.

"You're not my Mum, anymore." His voice is so soft, she almost misses it. "You're Charlotte Richards." His crestfallen expression tugs at her heart and she feels tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. He looks so incredibly _young_ , buried under a mountain of blankets, gazing at her with those big brown eyes. And she _knows_ that he suffered; that the realisation that he would probably never see his real mother again hurt him deeply. And how hard it must be to look upon her, _Charlotte_ , almost daily and be reminded that she's gone forever. It must be harder than dealing with missing months of your life.

So she does what comes first to her mind and continues to stroke his neck and back, occasionally carding fingers through his hair, to soothe him.

"It's okay," she murmurs. "I really don't mind. – I like it even." And she really does. His eyes flutter briefly, then close again. She withdraws her hand carefully and is about to stand up, when his voice halts her.

"Don' stop. 's nice," he mumbles. "You're nice." And seriously, how is she supposed to decline a request like that? So she sits back down and continues running her hand up and down his back. "My real Mum wasn't always nice."

She waits a few beats, but as it becomes clear that he wouldn't continue, she asks, "What do you mean?"

"She wasn't always nice," he repeats, voice still slurred. "Used to be, though. Loooong ago." He wriggles a little, settling deeper into the soft bedding. "Threw me into my piano once. Aaaallll the way across the room. – Hurt like a bitch."

Blinking, Charlotte stares at him in shock. His mother threw him into a piano? What kind of awful parenting was that? How could a mother hurt her child like that? Charlotte might not have been a very good person (being sent to Hell had made that damn clear), but she had never, _ever_ hurt her children. She has so, so many questions for him right now. He's intoxicated though, and half-asleep, and she doesn't want to take advantage. So she settles for giving him the affection he seems to crave, and continues her gentle ministrations.

"You're nice to me, though," he says, the eye she can see opening to glance at her. He seems clearer already, which baffles her a little. "Although you know I'm the Devil."

"Well, the Devil is a pretty decent person, actually," she replies, giving him a soft smile.

"Thank you," he says and sounds and looks so incredibly sincere, that it hurts her heart. She squeezes his neck, halting his attempt to raise his head off the pillow.

"Go to sleep now." Shortly afterwards he's snoring like a chainsaw. Charlotte looks at him affectionately, smiling fondly. He's a child without a mother; she is a mother without a child. Might as well make the most of it, she decides, and vows that she will never, ever, hurt him as his real mother did. He – and Amenadiel too – so clearly crave affection, and sometimes guidance. From her. She will not let them down.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

At a brisk pace, Charlotte strides across the precinct, a heavy stack of files in her arms that she's desperately trying not to drop. It would be a real hassle to sort through this pile of nonsense. On some days the poorly paid DA's job was sorely grating on her nerves. Like today. Endless stacks of files and warrants to go through, not to mention having to deal with some of the slightly dim police officers who _apparently_ cannot be trained to fill out a simple form correctly and whose mistakes she had ruthlessly taken advantage of in a past live.

Sighing deeply, she cannot stop the brief thought of how much easier it had been to exploit the police's weaknesses than try to make them work in her favour now. But she quickly pushes it down. She is a different woman now. Has to be. _Wants_ to be.

Passing Detective Decker's desk, she notices Lucifer slouched in a chair, staring into space. Ever since his explanation about Heaven, Hell, his Mother, and her role in all of this, his sometimes strange behaviour in the past suddenly made sense. What's weird is that _she_ somehow feels drawn to his side – and Amenadiel's. Even more so since she had tucked in the actual Devil and heard his heartfelt tales about his real, manipulative mother after he'd got thoroughly soused not too long ago.

Even with just a quick glance, Charlotte takes notice of his unusually pale complexion and lack of exuberance, and draws her brows together in concern. Almost subconsciously, she veers to the left, closer to him, and studies him carefully. He doesn't notice her approach, doesn't even blink, as she stops short next to him, and rearranges the files onto one hip. Only then, his eyes are drawn to her face, but he's missing his usual … she's not even sure what it is he's missing. He just looks … off. Sick, maybe? She swore to herself not too long ago that she'd look after him and Amenadiel – for all their sakes – and seeing Lucifer like this definitely screamed for interference.

"May I help you with something?" Lucifer's question pulls her out of her musings. His hair is slightly mussed up, she notices. That's probably what's bothering her with his appearance. Nevertheless she can't make herself depart his side just yet. There's a deeply settled urge inside her, forcing her to make sure he's okay. She doesn't fight it. Doesn't really want to.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asks, the back of one hand already pressed to his forehead before she makes a conscious decision to do so. He doesn't feel warm. She lets her palm drift first to his cheek, then to his neck, to further ensure that he's not running a fever. His eyes are a bit blood-shot, and the dark circles underneath them do not make for a reassuring picture. Lucifer startles a little, posture straightening immediately, but doesn't pull away. He clears his throat a couple of times, clearly uncomfortable and wholly out of his element.

"Yes, yes," he stutters and Charlotte sees a flush creeping up his neck that stands in stark contrast to his pallor. "Fine."

She pulls up her brows and tilts her head slightly, conveying without words how much she doesn't believe that statement. It makes him fidget in his seat guiltily, before blurting, "Just a tad tired, I fear."

"Oh, how come?" She hoists the files higher again, steadying them with her other hand shortly before they slip, but keeps her eyes firmly on Lucifer. He doesn't like her scrutiny. And she almost feels bad for using it so shamelessly to her advantage. But he's so incredibly tight-lipped – and _stubborn_ about everything concerning his health and feelings that she suppresses the urge to apologise. His eyes dart across the room nervously, flicking from her face to somewhere above her left shoulder to his lap and back to her face.

"I suppose I just didn't get enough sleep the last few nights." Her brows knit in concern, which somehow prompts him to give a further explanation, "It's just business at Lux, and helping the Detective. – Amenadiel's a nuisance recently – well, not just recently."

"Maybe you've piled a bit too much on your plate recently?" His expression darkens and he huffs irritated, fingers flicking invisible dust off his trousers as he draws himself up to his full height, albeit still staying seated. She frowns at his posture.

"I can't just abandon Lux, now can I? Nor the Detective. She relies on my unique input, Mu-Charlotte." He immediately looks embarrassed at the almost slip-up, but Charlotte doesn't mind. It doesn't feel wrong to have him call her _'mum'_. She more than understands his occasional mistake.

"But I assume I could give Amenadiel the slip. He's a righteous bother. You wouldn't believe the things he comes up with." In a poor attempt to gloss over his lapse, Lucifer ploughs right on in his usual manner, averts his eyes to watch his fingers fiddle with his cuff links and tries to put on a show of nonchalance. It's disconcerting how fast he switches between emotions without actually dealing with them, she thinks.

"I'm not saying you should just drop everything," she soothes, interrupting his ramblings and making him snap his head back to look at her. "Just listen to your body and take it easy."

He tilts his head. She assumes that his slowness is caused in equal parts by fatigue and confusion about her proposal.

"How does one take it easy when running the most successful club in LA?" he asks, with a twinge of mockery, face contorting tauntingly. And she does _not_ like that tone of voice _at all_. Charlotte narrows her eyes, mouth setting in a hard line and it suffices to pull him back in line as he squirms in his chair, wincing, eyes once again drawn to his lap.

"For starters," she says sternly. "One – and by _'one'_ I mean _you_ – could leave the club be, and retire early."

"I'm afraid, it's not that easy," he hedges, chancing a glance at her and quickly changes his tone upon her glare. "But I suppose Lux will not need my personal attendance _every_ night. – Tonight, for example?"

"Splendid. Then make sure to go to bed early," she says, tone soft again, and smiles at him. She squeezes his shoulder affectionately and he nods slowly, wide-eyed. Satisfied, she pats his cheek one last time before carrying on towards her desk. Only once she sits down, does she realise that she's just sent the Devil, _the actual Devil_ , to bed. And he didn't seem to mind that much.

The next day, she finds Lucifer again hovering over Detective Decker's desk and by the look on Chloe's face thoroughly annoying her. She takes an unobserved moment to catalogue his change in demeanour and finds it satisfying. He looks well rested and alert, a stark contrast to his slouched posture the day before. She nods to herself, pleased, before returning to her desk.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Once again, Charlotte has been drawn away from her lonely apartment and towards the company of the only two people who understand her plight. Could sympathise with her. She doesn't really need to talk to them. But having them close-by somehow feels good. Feels _right_. She doesn't understand it, doesn't really try to anyway. There are more pressing matters in her life right now that she wishes to explore, to understand. Being drawn towards two very fine, nice men really isn't very high on that list. At least that's what she keeps telling herself.

And she's come to understand that Lucifer and Amenadiel seem to seek her company as well. Both of them appearing near her, practically out of nowhere on a regular basis. She's pretty sure Amenadiel doesn't even live _near_ her usual coffee place, but still she runs into him almost every morning before work. It's a little disconcerting, if not for the fact that their mother had inhabited her body for several months. But also kinda cute, she has to admit. She stops every time to chat with him, exchange pleasantries and enquire about his well-being. And after every encounter he appears to be more upbeat, _happy_.

Despite Lucifer's constant taunting of his brother's habits, his visits to her little office have increased drastically. Of course, he always has a suitable excuse. An inquiry about a case or warrant, an errand for Detective Decker, or simply bringing her a cup of coffee are his most common disguises. He's like an overgrown, but shy, puppy, following her around, yet staying just out of reach. It's adorable.

So, once again, Charlotte is at Lux. On a week day, no less. She sighs heavily. Spending the better part of her evenings at a night club is surely not how she had envisioned her mid-forties. But here she is, watching swaying masses of young adults, drinking heavily and dancing provocatively. God, it makes her feel old. Lucifer is, of course, in their midst, mingling and flirting shamelessly, ever the dutiful and dashing host.

She catches sight of Amenadiel at the bar, tucked into a corner, almost out of sight. He looks as lonely as she feels tonight, although the club is packed with people. Manoeuvring through the dancing people, she steps to his side, smiling softly, although he didn't even notice her approach.

"Hey, you alright?" Charlotte puts a hand on his shoulder, running it gently down his arm to catch his attention. Startled, he turns his head, surprised to see her. "You look a little lost," she adds.

"I'm fine," he replies, a little too quickly. He's holding a glass of something strong looking, but doesn't appear inebriated. He probably craves something lighter, but fears Lucifer's taunting of his usual choice in girly drinks. She has come to realise that angelic brothers apparently bicker and fight just as much as human siblings. If not more.

"I may not be the ruthless defence attorney anymore, but that sure sounds like a lie to me," she says lightly and he immediately averts his eyes, looking rueful.

"I'm just … working through some stuff," he admits after a beat of silence, fiddling with the glass in his hand. "But I will be fine." He sounds like he's trying to convince himself as much as her.

"Okay," she acquiesces and pulls a bar stool closer, perching on the edge. "Wanna talk about it? – Maybe I can help?"

"I don't think so," he says. "It's not really … an earthly problem."

"Give it a try." She winks. "I might surprise you." He sighs heavily, eyes still full of doubt, but he doesn't look as if he'd decline her offer, so Charlotte waits patiently for him to make up his mind.

"You see, I have this problem with my Father," he finally starts.

"That doesn't sound like a very celestial problem," she replies lightly, but he's not amused by her attempt at humour. "Sorry. Go on."

"Anyway, I _know_ that Father is testing me. – I just can't figure out, what my test is!" He sounds frustrated, as if he's already spend a considerable amount of time on solving his problem. And he probably has. Following her instincts, she puts her hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles to try and loosen the tensed muscles. It has worked for Lucifer before, and Amenadiel seems to be just as hungry for affection.

"Don't stress so much," she advises, giving him a quick pat. "It can't be your father's wish to get worked up like that. You're not helping anyone if you do, the least of all you."

"But I have to figure it out!" he replies angrily. "Otherwise I'll never be able to prove my worth. I'll never-" His anger vaporises as quickly as it arrived, and is replaced by a soul-crushing despair.

"You'll never, what?" she asks as it becomes clear that he won't continue on his own.

"I'll never get back into His grace," he says with a dejected sigh, shoulders slumping. "I'll never get my powers back. My-my wings." They're silent for a long moment. Charlotte doesn't really know what to say to him, how to reassure him. She's still new to their family drama. Are _wings_ and _powers_ privileges? Comparable to grounding a child? Or taking away his favourite toy? But her own children had never been _that_ depressed about losing something for a short time. So wings and powers had to mean more to angels.

Thankfully she senses, that there's still something boiling inside of him, so she decides to wait until he's got it all out of his system. Maybe she'd have a clearer picture then.

"I mean," he starts." Even Luci got his wings back. He hacked them off in a vile display of rebellion and even burnt them. And he _still got them back_." He _hacked off_ his wings? That sounded horrible! The one time she's seen them, they didn't look as if they were removed easily. They looked like _limbs_. "And he rebelled, he did…" he falters, casting her a quick glance, and she forcefully pushes thoughts of Lucifer maiming himself to the back of her head and focuses on Amenadiel's problem. She could freak out about someone cutting off a limb later. "some things. But still he's allowed to stay on earth now. – What do I have to do?"

"I don't know," she says truthfully. "I don't know all that much about your father. Except that he's supposed to be merciful."

"I know. But I displeased Him greatly. I-I _fell_." The despair in his voice is so palpable that it physically hurts Charlotte. She just wants to wrap him up in a hug and never let go. To give him the love and affection and reassurances that he seems to lack so immensely. But she holds back, because something tells her that he won't want it right now.

"I might not know a lot about _your_ parents," she says. "But I do know a bit about parenting. – And I know that I do not condone your father's methods." He huffs a frustrated laugh. "Maybe he is trying to teach you something. Maybe you even deserve some kind of punishment. But abandoning your child is never the way to go about it. Never."

"He didn't abandon me," he protests weakly. "I fell."

"Has he talked to you recently? Made an effort to get in touch? Pointed you in the right direction?" He doesn't answer, jaw working powerfully. "Well, did he?"

"No." His answer sounds as if he had to force the word out. As if he doesn't want to admit to himself or anyone else that his father's really not the great man that he always thought him to be. And a revelation like that _hurts_.

"Because that is what parents are supposed to do when their children misstep," she explains, keeping her voice soft and reassuring. "You guide them towards the right way. Give them a nudge. – You do not just punish and let them figure it out on their own."

"But I'm not a child." It's a feeble defence, but Charlotte has to smile at his attempt.

"You're his child. That should always be enough." She delivers her words in a sure and steady tone, never letting her eyes leave his face. She has to make him understand that he is not the only one at fault here. He might have done something wrong, but so did his father.

He pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers, eyes firmly squeezed shut and she lets him take his time, but leaves her hand on his back. A gentle reminder that she's there for him.

"I-I just want to make Him proud," he mumbles in a small voice. "Like I did before. He tasked me with the most challenging errands because he trusted me. – At least I think he did." His expression is so crestfallen and child-like that Charlotte doesn't resist the sudden urge to hug him. He seems shell-shocked at first, but gradually relaxes into her touch, _relishes_ it.

"That is a very honourable goal," she says after drawing back again. "It shows that you're a very good son. – But you should never destroy yourself by trying to please someone else." He worries his nose with his thumb and finger again.

"It just feels like He doesn't – love me anymore."

"Then he's a fool," she states simply, because God or not, one does not simply abandon one's child. Children were precious and she could never understand how some people could just take them for granted, or, heaven forbid, abuse them. "I'd be very happy to have you as my son," she tells him earnestly. "And if your father doesn't realise what a great man you are, it's his loss."

"That's… I…" Another huff. "Thanks. – That-that means a lot to me." He doesn't sound convinced. It takes a lot of wrongdoings on parents' sides to make a child stop believing in and loving them. Amenadiel would not stop trying to please his father, but maybe he'd realise that crippling himself in the process is not the way to go about it. And that would be a big step in the right direction.

"Stop trying to please him," she says. "And focus on making yourself happy. If he's even the slightest bit decent parent, he'll want you to be happy, not miserable."


	4. Chapter 4

4.

"Lucifer," Amenadiel starts, not quite managing to keep the exasperated tone out of his voice, but making a visible effort to do so. "Could we _please_ not watch this slander?"

In Charlotte's humble opinion, he made a remarkable effort to remain calm yet authoritative; the perfect portrayal of the eldest child, who had _a lot_ of experience in dealing with his multitude of younger siblings and their moods. She admires his restraint. She wouldn't have been _nearly_ as patient if confronted with Lucifer's mockery and stubbornness for the better part of the evening.

"No," Lucifer replies, in true fashion of the headstrong, younger brother, not even glancing Amenadiel's way.

"It's not real!" They'd been arguing for at least half an hour. Definitely since Charlotte's arrival, probably longer than that, only interrupting their dispute to greet her and answer her few, made up questions. All parties involved knew they were a pretext for her visit, but thankfully didn't comment on. She should probably worry that they weren't even surprised about her unannounced visit. But she'd been over so many times in the last few weeks that it was hardly worth it to start thinking about it _now_.

Lucifer had thrust a book at her, in reply to one of her questions, while at the same time turning the TV's volume up and their bickering had continued.

She is absent-mindedly flicking through it, reclined in one of the armchairs. It's a very heavy, very old book that Lucifer insists explains everything. A very accurate description, he'd said, for a human.

It mostly sounds like gibberish to Charlotte. A bunch of angels that she's never even heard of and their powers and standing in the heavenly hierarchy are listed. She's not really interested in that kind of stuff, but she's even less interested in 'The Bachelor' – a TV show that Lucifer has taken an incomprehensible delight in and that's blaring in an ear-splitting volume through the penthouse.

Amenadiel, on the other hand, seems to share Charlotte's sentiment and makes sure to tell his brother as much – repeatedly. At least listening to their squabbling was better than sitting alone in her apartment. It also reminds her of her own children and their constant ability to get onto each other's nerves. God, she misses them.

Apparently, celestial beings that are older than time itself are not spared the motion of sibling rivalry and childish bantering. Maybe God had been sick of his children's constant fighting and decided that human kind should suffer as he did.

They were created in his likeness after all, or so it says.

"But I'm telling you, brother, you're wrong," Lucifer says vehemently, waving his arm around, eyes still firmly locked on the TV.

"Don't be silly, Lucy," Amenadiel replies. "It's not real. – It can't possibly be real."

"But it is! – It's even in the description!"

"It's a _farce_. – Change the channel. Maybe something we can both enjoy?"

"I'm enjoying it," Lucifer quips. "You go ahead and answer Charlotte's silly questions." He waves his hand dismissively in her direction and she can't help but frown. She catches his eye with her reprimanding glare and manages to make him squirm and smile apologetically.

"I thought we agreed to do something fun tonight?" Amenadiel interrupts, oblivious to their stand-off.

"I don't remember agreeing to anything," Lucifer says, enraptured by the Bachelor and one of his conquests on screen. "I didn't invite you."

"Just," Amenadiel starts and reaches over Lucifer, aiming for the remote control that's sitting on the arm of the couch. Apparently he is done reasoning with his brother. "Give me the remote."

"Hey!" Lucifer quickly holds it out of his reach, pushing at his brother. "Get off me, you big oaf!"

"Then change the channel!"

"It's my apartment, my TV. _I_ get to decide."

"You always get to decide," Amenadiel complains and Charlotte suppresses a heavy sigh at their antics. She is not in the right mood for a debate on principles. "It's the story of my life, actually. – The spoilt youngest, always getting what he wants."

Lucifer throws Amenadiel a dark look and Charlotte has an uncomfortable sense of foreboding that this argument might get out of hand very soon. She clears her throat warningly, because the last thing she wants is to break up a fight between actual angels. Someone would probably get hurt.

But come to think about it, they were giving off strong bickering siblings vibes, and she knows how to deal with _that_. Although she really hopes it doesn't come that far.

They cast her a quick glance, halting momentarily, before glaring at each other again. There's a beat of very unpleasant silence, like the calm before a storm, Charlotte cannot help but think. She's given up trying to concentrate on the book and watches them surreptitiously.

She would interfere if this argument got out of hand.

And just as she's starting to believe that she might be mistaken and that they're going to behave, while on screen the Bachelor declares his undying love for the third girl in a row, Amenadiel makes another grab for the remote.

Lucifer prevents his attempt by smashing his elbow into his brother's chest. It makes a nasty thudding noise and Charlotte looks up in concern, faked interest in her reading abandoned.

Not that they'd notice, she thinks wryly, as their disagreement turns into a full-grown tussle.

Amenadiel is doubled over slightly, but still trying to pry the remote out of Lucifer's fingers, so it can't have hurt him too much, she decides.

"Give. It. To. Me," Amenadiel growls, twisting a leg underneath him to better loom over Lucifer. They both have a hand around the object in question now, pushing and shoving at each other with their free hands.

By the looks of it, it's just a matter of time until someone licks his finger and shoves it into the other's ear.

"Make me!" Lucifer replies angrily, free hand firmly plastered in Amenadiel's face to ward him off. And, seriously, someone's going to lose an eye, if she doesn't interfere soon.

"Oh, I'm gonna make you!"

"Yes? You and what army, brother?" Lucifer somehow manages to sound mocking even as Amenadiel's knee presses into his midsection and forces the air out of his lungs.

"Boys!" she finally snaps, voice sharp and unrelenting, closing the book forcefully to underline her reprimand. They stop dead in their tracks, heads whipping in her direction and if she wasn't feeling quite as frustrated at their antics, she might have laughed at their deer-in-headlights expressions.

They had not anticipated _that_.

"Get off your brother," she orders instead, flicking her fingers at Amenadiel. It takes him a few beats, but then he scrambles to obey and his eagerness _is_ rather endearing to watch. "And you," she redirects her glare at Lucifer's gloating face, successfully chasing it off. "Switch that off."

"But…" he starts, spluttering.

"No. – You can find something else to do, if you can't play nice." She keeps her eyes firmly on Lucifer until he reluctantly shuts the TV off, grumbling about her unfairness.

Then she throws them another stern look, while simultaneously trying to commit their startled looks to memory, before turning her attention to the book in her lap again, effectively ending the conversation.

They're quiet for a long time, the only sounds rustling paper and the brothers' squirming, until Lucifer breaks the eerie silence by quietly inquiring if she'd like another drink and if she'd enjoy participating in a board game.


	5. Chapter 5

"Of all the idiotic, senseless things to do…" Lucifer is hustled down the stairs by Detective Douche himself, his arm in a tight grip. He'd tried shrugging it off (several times), but apparently he's managed to seriously tick Daniel off and the man in question is not putting up with his nonsense. It's disconcerting.

"Yes, yes," Lucifer grouses. "I heard you the first ten times. I got it."

They're back at the precinct after an uncomfortable trip to the ER that he _really_ could have gone without. He is _fine_. As he'd told Daniel _repeatedly_. Not that it had done him any good. The Douche had still dragged him there, and forced him to go along with the doctor's orders with dire threats about tattling to the Detective if he didn't behave.

His overall reprimanding posture certainly hadn't hurt either. He hadn't been aware that Daniel could pull it off.

So he'd had his chest x-rayed with minimal fuss. He'd complained, of course. Telling them again and again that he was fine. _Which he is_. The x-ray had confirmed that he didn't have any broken ribs. He'd barely managed to refrain from telling Daniel _'I told you so'_. He'd be bruised and it would hurt. But he was _fine_.

"No, I don't think you do," Daniel replies as he pushes him down to sit in a chair next to his desk. Probably to keep him in his sight for the remainder of the day. He'd threatened as much. Several times. "If I hadn't forced you to wear that vest, you could be dead right now. Do you realise that?"

"Kudos to you," Lucifer says mockingly, tipping an invisible hat in tribute. Daniel just grits his teeth furiously and takes a few deep breaths. Probably trying to count, the poor man, if the look on his face is any indication.

"Do not mock me," he growls and despite his best intentions Lucifer's spine straightens involuntarily at the sharp reprimand. "This is not a joking matter."

"Yes, but…" he starts, suddenly anxious to offer an explanation for his conduct.

"No," Daniel interrupts, voice stern, and Lucifer snaps his mouth shut, frowning at his embarrassing display. "No buts." An ice pack is procured seemingly out of nowhere and gently placed on his right chest. Daniel's soothing touches a stark contrast to his angry voice. "This never would have happened, if you'd listened to me."

"I did listen," Lucifer objects. And he had!

"But did you obey?" Daniel's gaze seems to pry open his skull and glare straight into his soul. It is unsettling, to say the least.

He winces.

The man had never before managed to make him cow. And yet here he was doing just that with merely a stern gaze and a few disapproving words. He tears his eyes away, unable to look at the unsettling mixture of anger and _fear_ in Dan's eyes. It makes him feel uneasy. And that is a notion that Lucifer tries to avoid at all costs.

"If the Detective hadn't been there, I would have been fine!" He can't resist the urge to defend his actions, feeling silly as soon as the words left his mouth. He grimaces.

"Chloe has nothing to do with this," Dan says sharply. "I told you to stay back. I gave you an _order_."

Lucifer couldn't really argue with that. Daniel had even repeated his instructions several times. In front of the whole team. And then again just for his ears, as he had fastened the bullet-proofed vest properly around Lucifer's torso with deft fingers.

To be perfectly honest, he'd never intended to go along with Dan's orders. And he would have been fine. The Detective was not supposed to be anywhere _near_ their bust.

But last minute changes – that Lucifer hadn't been aware of – had put her in the back-up team. Thus his current predicament. He'd disregarded Daniel, charged the bad guy. Had been shot at. It had hurt. _Tremendously_. Much to his utter surprise.

Thankfully the vest had saved him.

A vest that Daniel had _insisted_ he wore.

Still, he doesn't see himself at fault here. He hadn't known all the facts. If he'd known that the Detective had been there, he wouldn't have acted the way he did. Well, probably. Maybe. Possibly.

He casts a quick glance at Dan, who's still hovering uncomfortably close, firmly pressing the ice pack to his chest with his large hand.

"But you thought you knew better again," Dan goes on. "And look where that got you. – Thank God you wore that vest."

"He had nothing to do with it, I'm sure," Lucifer quips with a snort and rolls his eyes. Only to recoil slightly when he catches Dan's darkening expression. "Sorry," Lucifer mumbles reflexively, eyes darting to somewhere above Dan's left shoulder, although he's trying very hard to hold his gaze. The man is practically looming over him and it makes him feel smaller, younger, and thoroughly chastised.

It makes his skin tingle unpleasantly.

"I should just rat you out to your mom," Daniel says suddenly, his eyes drawn towards something behind Lucifer. "Maybe she can knock some sense into you."

"My mum?" He twists in his seat, suddenly wary, and his suspicion is confirmed as he spots Charlotte walking towards them in a brisk pace. "Right. My mum."

He'd almost forgotten that Daniel still thought that Charlotte was his stepmother. He turns back around, pushing Dan's hand off the ice pack. But before he can slip it behind him, out of Charlotte's sight, Daniel's snipping his fingers at him.

"Keep that on your chest," he orders firmly. He jerks his hand back guiltily, regretting that he had left his suit jacket in Daniel's car. He could have hidden the damn ice pack underneath and Charlotte would be none the wiser.

"Keep what on his chest?" Charlotte asks and Lucifer can't help the frantic look he throws at Dan. He just _knows_ that Charlotte would not approve of his actions today. Their relationship had evolved into … something over the last few weeks. Something he couldn't quite explain.

It's almost as if his Mother was back in her body. Just without the manipulations and mind-games. She actually reminded him of the Mum he'd known from his childhood. Before Dad had been distracted by humanity.

Which was fine, mostly. Just not right now. He really doesn't like explaining his actions to anyone. Especially someone whose approval mattered to him. (Not that he'd ever admit that out loud.)

Daniel looks deeply unimpressed at his pleading gaze, prompting him with another flick of his fingers to put the ice back on his bruised chest. He continues to fiddle with it instead.

"Should I tell her? Or do you want to do the honours?" Dan asks cold-heartedly.

"Tell me what?" She comes to a sudden stop right next to Lucifer and he has to crane his neck a bit to look at her face. Not that he wants to do that. He's seen her worry. He's also familiar with her reprobation. He does not wish to see it again.

Once was plenty enough, thank you very much.

"I don't want anyone to tell her," he says quickly, fingers still fidgeting with the soggy bag, and avoids looking at anyone.

"What's this all about?" Charlotte asks warily and Lucifer doesn't have to lift his eyes to know that she's checking him for any visible injuries. Only a matter of time until she would spot the ice in his lap.

"Nothing," he still replies quickly. "Nothing for you to worry about. Just-just a disagreement between Daniel and myself." Dammit, he's babbling like a child! Not the best way to convince her that there's no cause for worry. Dan's snort certainly isn't helping either.

He chances a look at her face and immediately regrets the notion. Her concerned eyes have latched onto the ice pack and she's stepping around the chair to face him.

"Are you hurt?" she asks, barely keeping her hands from touching him. He managed to hold her gaze for only a few seconds, opting to plead with Daniel instead. He could use some help right about now.

Daniel, however, doesn't appear to be in a helpful mood. He crosses his arms over his muscular chest, and continues to look thoroughly disapproving. And just like that he's transported back to a time long, long gone, when his shenanigans had got out of hand and he'd be subjected to a good telling-off by his parents.

He forces his thoughts back to the present and the problem at hand. Dan and Charlotte are still _looking_ at him and he wants to shift and squirm under their respective gazes, as he frantically searches his brain for a suitable excuse.

He's drawing a blank.

"It's…" he starts hoarsely, stopping to clear his throat and suddenly finding the floor immensely interesting. Excusing it by telling himself that he doesn't want to look at Daniel's hideous face any longer. "It's not that bad."

It sounds lame even to his ears. Dammit! When did his wit decide to leave him?

There's a sound coming from Charlotte that oddly resembles a sob. He jerks his head up in surprise.

"Where?" she demands, leaning down to scrutinise him further, hands already roaming over his arms.

Daniel finally seems to have mercy and quickly interjects, "It's his chest. He got shot at." Another almost sob. "But he was wearing a vest. – He's just a bit bruised."

His voice is soothing, a stark contrast to the sharp words he'd issued at Lucifer all day, and it seems to calm Charlotte considerably. However it doesn't stop her from opening his dress shirt with nimble fingers. He's too dumbfounded to offer much resistance. None, to be exact. By the time he realises what's happening, she's already pushed his shirt back and he can't do much more than hope that the bruise doesn't look as painful as it feels.

Charlotte gasps, one hand flying to her mouth in shock, and he glances down at his own chest. It's not a pretty sight.

The right side of his chest has taken on an ugly, purple and blue-ish colour. Frankly put, it looks horrible.

"It's not that bad," he repeats, trying for an upbeat, soothing tone. By the look on Charlotte and Dan's faces, he's missed by several miles.

"What… how…" Charlotte stammers before taking a deep breath, and starting again, "Did you get this x-rayed?" She's turned towards Daniel and Lucifer bristles a bit at being so shamelessly dismissed from the conversation.

"Of course," Dan replies. "No broken ribs. – He'll be fine."

"Yes, like I keep telling you," Lucifer interjects snottily. Charlotte swivels back around to face him. She's still leaning over him, one hand braced on his arm rest, and now ghosting gentle fingers across his bruise.

"How did this happen?" she asks, eyeing him suspiciously and he squirms. He's can't pinpoint the exact moment, when he's lost control over his suaveness, but it must have happened at some point.

Probably at the hospital, when Dan had told him off for _sassing_ the Doctor. (Dan's words, not his.)

"Oh, you know how it is," he says, trying for nonchalance.

She's not fooled.

Her penetrating gaze is making him all kinds of uncomfortable and he busies himself with buttoning his shirt again. It's a straining task because somehow his fingers seem to have lost their nimbleness. Probably left with his ability to sit still. Charlotte doesn't interfere though.

"I'm sure Daniel wouldn't be so put out if that was the case, would he?" she asks once he's decent again, and holds the soggy ice pack over the bruise.

"There might have been a tiny misunderstanding," he relents and shoots daggers at Dan as he snorts loudly.

"Lucifer." There is a tone of chastisement in her voice that makes him feel incredibly small. It doesn't help that they're still standing while he's banished to the chair like an unruly child.

"He didn't listen," Dan interjects. "He took a senseless risk and got hurt. – But he's fine now. There's no need to worry." That sounded suspiciously like Dan was trying to save him from Charlotte's wrath.

He looks up, eyes crinkled in wonder. For someone who had done nothing but berate him ever since confirming that he wasn't seriously hurt, Daniel apparently didn't want to throw him _completely_ under the bus.

Charlotte nods tersely, straightening her posture.

"Thanks for making sure, he's okay," she tells Dan with a smile, then turns to face him again.

She grabs his wrist urging him to get to his feet.

"Come on. You can lie down on the couch in my office," she says in a voice that brokers no room for arguments.

"I'm not tired," he tries anyway.

"Humour me," she replies, her fingers still wrapped around his wrist. It makes him feel silly. But he refrains from shaking her off, lest he draws attention to them. And without further ado he's towed towards her office and he can do nothing but stumble along behind her.

"Charlotte, I'm really fine," he says once the door is firmly closed behind them and he's sure that there are no prying ears around.

She whirls towards him and before he can react, she's wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly, yet still mindful of his injury. He's flabbergasted for a long moment, but then tentatively raises his arms and returns her embrace.

He has to admit that it's _nice_. The sudden realisation that he must have given her an awful fright hits him like a freight train and a feeling of guilt settles deep in his stomach.

Then she's pulling back, pushing him away to look at his face, and he cringes, quickly averting his eyes.

"You will _never_ scare me like that again." The order is issued so tersely and with such emotion that he can't help but nod. Her face contorts suddenly and there's that ugly sobbing noise again, but she pulls him back into her arms and he can't be sure if there are indeed tears in her eyes.

He'd rather not dwell on that.

One hand settles at the nape of his neck and urges his head to rest against her shoulder, the other fisting the back of his shirt.

And it's nice. Although he could have done without the drama. And the enormous bruise on his chest.


	6. Chapter 6

"Stop pushing me."

"Then move. – Go on. We agreed on this, did we not?"

"Yes," Lucifer snarls, pulling away from Amenadiel's hand on the small of his back which unfortunately brings him closer to their destination. He's still not convinced that this is a good idea and his concerns only get bigger the closer they get.

"Are you having second thoughts then?" Amenadiel asks, stopping next to him and rearranging their gatherings.

"Of course I do! – This is ridiculous! She has actual children. Not us, in case it slipped your mind!"

"She'll be happy nonetheless. – Now go." He pushes at his back again forcing him to take a step before digging his heels in again. "Lucifer, what is it?"

"It's just –" He huffs. "Are you sure this is even a proper human custom? It sounds a bit ludicrous to me."

"Of course it is! You've spent almost seven years on earth. Don't tell me, you've never heard of Mother's Day? – Besides you've googled it. It will be fine!" He did. He also talked to the Detective's spawn about it. Of course her advice had been even sillier. Charlotte would not appreciate a drawing, of all things.

"But providing breakfast? – We don't even know what she prefers!"

"I'm not having this discussion with you again," Amenadiel voices exasperated, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Charlotte hears the bickering long before there's even a knock on her door and her lips quirk into a soft smile for the first time that day. She has dreaded today for the last several days, since it became clear that her children wouldn't be visiting her. Her heart jolts painfully at the thought, but she forces her breathing to remain even. She is quite certain that her tear ducts must have dried up given the amount of tears she's shed since hearing from her ex-husband.

Outside, there's the sound of a small scuffle.

"What's the ruckus out there?" Dan asks, wrapping his arms around her from behind and nibbling her earlobe. She hasn't noticed him stepping out of the bathroom. She leans back against his firm chest, enjoying the touch. He's offered to spend the day with her, distracting her and she is immensely grateful, but it seems that their plans are about to be disrupted.

"I'm not sure, yet," she answers, just as there's a tentative knock on the door. "Let's find out." She presses a quick peck to his lips, before untangling herself and opening the door.

The sight of Amenadiel and Lucifer greets her. They're laded with a stunning bouquet of flowers, a box of decadent chocolates, and a bag of what she assumes are groceries.

"Happy Mother's Day!" Amenadiel says cheerfully, before jabbing Lucifer in the ribs.

"Yes," he grunts. "Happy Mother's Day." He pauses, looking uncomfortable, before thrusting the flowers towards her. "These are for you."

She takes them on autopilot. She certainly hadn't expected for them to visit today. With flowers nonetheless. She takes a moment to study them. They're… beautiful and she feels the back of her eyes suddenly burn with unshed tears. A sob fills her chest and she presses her hand to her mouth to keep it inside. This must be the nicest thing anyone has done for her in a long time and she's overwhelmed.

Her vision blurs and she dabs at her eyes quickly.

"Now look what you did!" Lucifer exclaims suddenly, shoving at Amenadiel's shoulder. Thankfully Dan interjects quickly, drawing her towards him.

"Hey, hey," he soothes, cradling her against his chest, mindful of the bouquet she's still clutching tightly.

"I'm okay," she says, wiping her eyes surreptitiously. "I'm okay."

"You don't look okay," Lucifer says, cautious, and looking thoroughly uncomfortable. She quickly turns towards them, quirking her lips into a smile.

"No, really, I'm okay," she repeats. "This is… a surprise. – You just surprised me. It's perfect. I'm happy." They don't look convinced, so she approaches them quickly, hugging first Lucifer, then Amenadiel. They stand woodenly, like they always do whenever someone initiates physical contact, but relax gradually. She makes sure to smile at them fondly, her hand lingering on each's cheek.

This is such an amazing thing to do, she wants them to feel her appreciation. To realise that she very much values what they're doing.

"All right," Dan says, breaking the silence. "I'll just be going then." He gives her another chaste kiss.

"Bye," she says softly.

"Bye. See you tonight?" She nods and he turns towards Lucifer and Amenadiel still hovering uncertainly in the hallway. "Have fun, boys," he adds and with a grin closes the door behind him. Lucifer scowls at the closed door.

"These are lovely," Charlotte says earnestly, effectively distracting Lucifer. "Thank you." She leans up to press a kiss first on Amenadiel's then on Lucifer's cheek, before turning and venturing towards the kitchen to put the beautiful bouquet in a vase.

They follow gingerly, crowding her kitchen although they're trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

"What's this?" she asks peering into the bag Lucifer's put on the counter. "Breakfast?"

"Yes," Lucifer says. "Well, ingredients for breakfast, actually."

"Oh, you shouldn't have," she says, already reaching for the bag. It's a feeble attempt to ease them into what they have apparently planned, but it works nonetheless.

"No," Amenadiel's voice interrupts her. She looks at him expectantly. "You just sit here." He pulls out one of her bar stools, patting it lightly. "And we'll do the rest."

So she sits and watches the two men bustle around her kitchen. Her heart swells with pride that she actually has no right to feel. They're not her sons. She didn't raise them. But what they're doing for her is so incredibly thoughtful and sweet, she can't help the sentiment. She didn't ask them for this. Didn't even think they'd do something like this. Because she's not their mother.

It's perfect and totally unexpected which makes it all the sweeter. So Charlotte sits back and enjoys the hustle and bustle, smiles fondly at their bickering, and laughs at their jokes.

It's a very nice Mother's Day, although she still misses her other children. And who knows, maybe next year, they can all do this together.


End file.
